


Stormy Weather

by KillTheDirector



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Disabled Character, Community: capkinkmeme, M/M, Panic Attacks, Punk!Steve, Skinny!Steve, ex-rockstar!Bucky, im a slut for skinny!steve/beefy!bucky, survival guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillTheDirector/pseuds/KillTheDirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bucky is an ex rock/blues guitarist who quit his band after a motorbike crash lost him his arm. Now he's a recluse who writes songs and sometimes sings anonymously in smoky bars where no one will recognize him. One night a stranger sketches his mournful performance on a napkin and disappears. Bucky keeps the napkin, coming back again and again hoping to meet him, finally meeting Steve.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lead Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> _Lead Me Home--Jamie N Commons_
> 
>  
> 
> Started this way back in 2014, now we're gonna actually finish it.

The strings of the bass thud in time with his heart as he checks the sound a few more times, getting lost in the practice of it. It's a little too smoky in this particular bar, but Bucky can't find it within himself to complain; after all, the grimy yellow spot lights reflecting off the smoke provides anonymity that can't be found in a sold out arena.

The bar is barely full, the regulars sitting in their preferred seats and the few brave souls seeking a new watering hole in a dive bar look as if they don't know what to do with themselves. 

Bucky slides up onto the barstool that sits on the shabby boards that pass for a stage and takes in a deep breath; his fingers (though technically they're not flesh and blood, therefore not really HIS) rest easily on top of the bass strings. He plays a few chords and begins, eyes lowered, allowing him to drift off to a place that's his own. 

He goes through his set, chest feeling significantly lighter with each song until there isn't the constant crushing guilt that seems to always weigh on his heart ever since the accident. "I'll be taking a quick break, ladies and gentleman." He says a few songs later, mouth perking into a small smile when someone whistles low.

He moves up to the bar, gently elbowing past a few regulars who give him small nods of approval. Bucky raises a finger and takes the offered glass of water with a content sigh. 

Leaning against the bar, he lets his eyes trail over the crowd assembled for the night. A few women give him coy smiles over the rim of their glasses, and he knows that if he wanted to, he could have his pick. It's the same knowledge that knows he won't. 

Taking another slow sip of his water, Bucky's eyes trail over the tops of the patrons' heads until his gaze skitters to a stop when it meets a pair of the bluest eyes he's ever seen. 

Blue eyes flicker away from his gaze, the moment cut short and throwing Bucky back to reality. He needs to finish his set, but there's a niggling feeling at the back of his head like he's missed something. 

He returns to the stage, and the smoke and lights are just blinding enough that the thought of searching out blue eyes leaves his mind. 

An hour later Bucky finds himself coerced into having a drink with his roommate Natasha. He places their drinks (an ice water with lemon for him, and a dark beer for her) onto the small booth's scratched table top with a small sigh, slinging his bass on the bench beside him. He notices something in Natasha's hand, and a small smirk flirts with the corner of her mouth. "What's got you so cheery?" He asks, nursing his water while he flexes his metal hand, the machinery humming at being used for so long. 

"I think you have yourself a fan." She hums, sliding the paper ( and on closer inspection, Bucky finds it's actually a napkin) over the top of the table. Bucky takes it in his flesh hand, gaze scanning the surface for a second before it really registers. 

It's a pretty detailed sketch, considering the paper used; it's of him on stage, the background shaded just so that he can almost still smell the smoke. A small grin quirks one corner of his mouth in the sketch, eyes peering out from behind a curtain of hair; his hands are unfinished, and his legs are rough lines to indicate where they should go, but Bucky finds that he needs to keep this drawing, no matter if it's a selfish thought. 

"Who do you think drew this?" He asks breathlessly, eyes still tracing the details on the napkin. Natasha shrugs, swirling her beer with a thoughtful look on her face. 

"Like I said, you must have a fan." 

()()

_The rain isn't letting up and he knows that he's had too much to drink after the concert, but Bucky feels his blood pounding through his body as the high from another show well done leaves him feeling like he's on cloud nine._

_He's already forgotten the woman on his arm's name, and to be honest he was more so looking at the man she had tagging along, but she smells like sweet smoke and smiles when he manages to drop his bike's keys for a third time. "Maybe we should take a cab?" Her voice is a little hesitant, and she's fiddling with the sleeves of his beaten up leather jacket._

_Bucky scoffs and kisses her lightly on the mouth (something he'll regret later, but right now he's feeling giddy). "I'm good, doll, jus' a lil' bit drunk." She laughs, and it only sounds slightly strained, but she's with her idol and they're going back to his hotel room, so nothing too bad can happen tonight._

Bucky jerks awake when the remembered feeling of the crash jars through his body. He swallows down the scream that claws at his throat and instead turns over to stare at the faintly glowing numbers on his alarm clock. 

It's six in the morning, and he can hear Natasha puttering around before she leaves for her morning jog. He wants to call out to her, ask if he could come with so they could maybe get breakfast together (because the guilt is getting too heavy, and all he can remember is a too trusting smile and hesitant eyes of a girl who's name he now has engrained in his mind). 

The front door slams, leaving Bucky to stare up at the pitted ceiling with a frown and a feeling of something missed. 

()()

Typically if he feels like he's drawn unwanted attention to himself, Bucky will up and leave whatever venue he had holed himself in; as he chews on the end of the forgotten cigarette he has dangling from his mouth, Bucky wonders why this time it feels different.

Set up is quick, and a glance around the bar shows that it's less filled than last time he played there, which means no one had recognized him. He sighs softly in relief, ignoring the small bubble of disappointment at not seeing any blue searching him out. 

He begins to play his set without the niggling feeling of anxiety that normally pops uncomfortably in his gut when he plays a venue twice. He finds himself joking back with the few people who yell out "Play _Free bird_ " and ends his set with a mocking rendition of _Wonderwall_. 

Natasha is waiting for him at the bar and gives him a quick once over. "You're in a better mood than you were this morning. Meet your mystery fan?" He takes the offered water with a light scoff, downing it in one go before pushing a few stands of hair out of his face. 

"My moods are allowed to get better without me meeting someone, Nat." She gives Bucky a pointed look, assessing his movements to see if he's being truthful or not before rolling her eyes. 

"C'mon, there's someone I want you to meet." 

The person goes by the name of Clint, who's the bartender and shoots Natasha admiring glances when he thinks she doesn't notice. By the tiny smirk playing at the corners of her red mouth, she has. 

"Nice to meet you." Bucky says stiffly, shaking the man's hand. Clint either doesn't notice the chill of metal or he just doesn't care which puts him on Bucky's 'good people' list. 

"Glad I could, man." Clint smiles lazily, tilting his head more toward Bucky and that's when he sees the small hearing aid placed in the man's ear. "So, I was wonderin'...if you'd like to play here once or twice a week? I'd pay ya, of course." 

Bucky's eyes widen, and he gives Natasha a little glare out of the corner of them because she most likely knew about the offer. Playing somewhere with regularity ups the chances that someone will recognize him, remember the accident-- _You killed my daughter!_

He swallows thickly and rasps out a quick: "I'll have to think about it." before stumbling away in order to get some fresh air. 

Bucky nearly runs over someone in his haste to leave, his shoulder (thankfully the one that's not connected to metal) slams into the person's face, knocking them back with a choked sounding noise. 

"S-sorry." He has to take a moment to suck in a breath, and when blue _blue_ eyes stare up at him from under a thin hand (that's pressed against a forehead in pain), Bucky jolts backward in surprise. 

"Ah, that was my fault." the man (who is small and slender, but his voice comes from a place deep in his chest) lowers his hand and gives Bucky a small smile. "Just watch out for us little people, alright?" 

There's a pleasing flush working over soft looking sun kissed skin, and Bucky wants to run his fingers through the man's honey colored hair. 

Instead he nods jerkily and steps around the man; he doesn't look back (though he desperately wants to) and ducks into an alleyway that doesn't smell too strongly of piss and trash. 

Guilt surges through him, making his flesh hand tremble while the metal prosthetic remains eerily still. Bucky closes his eyes, trying to will himself away from a panic attack even as the voice of the girl's mother ( _Dolores, but he had called her Dot and doll and sweetheart_ ) screamed at him, asking why _he_ got to live when her baby didn't. 

"Are you okay?" Bucky startles at the question, head jerking up to stare at the tiny man frowning down at him in concern. The man is worrying at his pink bottom lip with straight white teeth, and his eyebrows are furrowed like that's their constant state.

Bucky tries to say yes, or tell the man to fuck off, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he's mute. He tries again, but the only thing he can say is: "I don't know." 

The man nods as if this is acceptable and gestures toward the wall where Bucky is hunched against. "Mind if I sit with you?" Bucky blinks and then nods slowly, his nerves jolting when he thinks that this man might _know_. 

The blond settles in, squatting on his haunches so his dark jeans don't touch the most likely filthy ground. They don't talk for a few minutes, allowing for Bucky's nerves to settle some what. The man holds out a thin, long fingered hand that has paint in the creases of his sharp knuckles. "My name's Steve." 

Bucky reaches out slowly and grips Steve's surprisingly soft hand, shaking it once before tucking his arm back against his stomach. "Bucky." He says stiffly, watching as a deep flush spreads over Steve's lightly freckled cheeks. 

"You're the, uh, the singer right? From the other night?" 

"Um, yeah." He shrugs a shoulder, uncurling from his previously hunched position. "That's me." Bucky winces at how lame that sounded, but Steve doesn't seem to notice or care. 

"Cool." The blond picks at a patch on his jacket (worn well and dark army green with artful patches that show pride flags and band logos, stitched around the sleeves to indicate how loved it is). "You were really good. Are you gonna play here more often?" 

It's an innocent question that's asked with wide blue eyes; Bucky swallows, shrugs uselessly again. "Maybe...?" Steve makes a soft humming noise and nods. 

"Well, Clint's always lookin' for talent and I mean, you have that by the bucket full." His eyebrows furrow and he makes a face. "Sorry, that was dumb. I'm not normally so, uh...myself." 

Bucky surprises himself by laughing and shakes his head. He feels his mouth slipping into a soft, fond smile that makes Steve's ears flush a bright pink. "I think you're doin' fine." 

Steve snorts and wipes away imaginary sweat, an easy smile working over his lips as he seems to relax. "Oh, whew, that's good. I was afraid I was makin' an ass outta myself."

Bucky is about to respond when they're interrupted by an accented voice. "Steve? Oh, there you are!" They both look away from each other to see a very pretty brunette peering into the alley, an amused smirk tugging at her ruby red lips. 

She looks like she's just jumped out of a 1940s pin up, though the artful tattoos crawling up her arms and legs kind of take away from that. "I'm glad you're not getting into a fight." Both Bucky and Steve stand, though the blond is pulling a face and rolling his eyes. 

"Nah, just talkin', Peg." Steve looks up from under his lashes at Bucky and he offers a small half smile that flashes--because of course it does--a small dimple at the corner of his mouth. "I prolly should get goin'...but I'll maybe see you around?" 

This guy is like something out of Bucky's dreams, but the thing is he has a girlfriend. It's torture, but at Steve's hopeful look, Bucky nods and tries to summon his old charm to the forefront. "Yeah I'll see ya around, punk." 

Steve gives him a blinding smile, but it turns to another pained wince when the woman--Peg?--calls out: "Stop flirting, or we'll miss the movie." Bucky thinks there's amusement hidden there, but he's not sure. 

Steve leaves with a backward wave of his hand, and Bucky thinks he hears the woman ask, "So was that _him_?"


	2. Guitar Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Guitar Man -- CAKE_

Steve groans to himself as his hand cramps and yet another half-finished sketch is crumpled into a tight ball and tossed at the overflowing trash bin. 

He scrubs a hand through his hair, uncaring if graphite smears over his forehead and through the blond strands. He closes his eyes and sucks in a few calming breaths while trying to remember why he had gone to school for art in the first place.

Sam slams open the door to Steve's studio, a bag of greasy doughnuts in one hand and a large cup of coffee in the other; there's a doughnut hanging from his mouth that causes powdered sugar to smear over his dark skin. Steve makes a noise that is half way between a snort of amusement and a moan of happiness at seeing the coffee. 

"Sustenance," Steve whines, making grabby hands at the bag, "I need sustenance." 

Sam plops the bag onto Steve's desk and takes the doughnut out of his mouth. He looks a little ridiculous with the powdered sugar everywhere, and Steve tells him that while practically inhaling his own cream filled doughnut. Sam rolls his eyes and lightly bops him on the head. "Yeah yeah, I'll remember that next time you ask me to get you food." 

The other man sits down on the overstuffed couch Steve had dragged into the studio from the alley (after giving it an extremely through wash and bed bug spray), releasing a long sigh. "So, anything good?" Sam is one of the most supportive people Steve knows, and doesn't judge him for not cranking out a new piece every month. 

Unfortunately, even with all of Sam's support, nothing has been made in months. 

Steve grumbles into his coffee (over sweetened and strong enough to chew, just the way he likes it), gesturing jerkily toward the pile of half finished, crumpled sketches. "See for yourself." He slumps a little, a scowl working over his face. "When I got out of school, I thought ' _finally_ , now I can actually _do_ something!' But the only shit I've ever done that's any worth while is from when I was _in_ school." He looks down at his food, at the doodles that turned into nothing, and sighs again. "Maybe I wasted four years and a shit ton of money..."

Sam doesn't say anything, he just gets up and walks over to where Steve is sitting before slapping him (lightly) upside the head. 

Steve yelps, looking up at his best friend with big blue eyes while the man fixes him with a _look_. "Steve, listen to me. Shit's not just gonna fall into your lap, and you're one of the hardest workers I've ever seen. Sometimes these things take time, and even though you're not feeling super inspired lately, you'll pull yourself outta this slump." He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. "And don't let me hear you say you 'wasted' four years on school, because you _didn't_."

Steve mindlessly rubs at the spot where Sam had smacked him; he sighs and shakes his head with a tiny smile. "I guess you're right..."

"Of course I am." 

()()

Steve is having lunch with Peggy when they're joined by Sam who has a large smile on his face. "Guess what?" He's buzzing with excited energy, something that makes Steve instantly weary. 

Peggy smiles indulgently up at her husband, a perfect eyebrow raised in amusement. "What is it, dear?" 

Sam points a finger at Steve (which makes him go a little cross eyed) and says triumphantly, "We're gonna go out tonight!"

Steve gives his friend a flat look. "What." He says at the same time Peggy says:

"That's a wonderful idea!" 

Steve looks over at his other best friend and gives her a pleading look. "Peggy, why?" 

She rolls her eyes and takes a bite out of her BLT. Sam looks too smug for Steve's liking. "Because Sam was telling me the other day about how stressed you've been. Perhaps going out and having fun will get the creative juices flowing?" 

Steve grumbles and slumps in his seat. He knows there isn't a use arguing with the both of them. "I hate that I introduced you two."

()()

Clint's bar, _The Nest_ is really the only bar that Steve likes, so when Sam had given him the option of choosing a place for them to start their evening, that was where he chose. 

Steve makes a small noise of excitement when he sees someone setting up for a performance; thankfully Clint has an ear for talent (ironic, considering he's 80% deaf), so it wasn't like the bar's patrons would be subjected to a college band's bad covers. 

"How ya doin', half-pint?" Steve scowls at the blond archer and hops up onto a split bar stool. 

"Things are goin'." He says, twisting the seat around so he can watch set up. The man is broad, quick with his hands and has his dark hair spilling around his face.   
Steve notes the dark jeans wrapped around the man's thick thighs and the cracked and worn leather jacket with a deep burgundy star over the back stretched over his shoulders. He swallows thickly and turns back to Clint, raising an eyebrow. "Who's the new meat?" 

Clint yawns and shrugs a shoulder, grabbing a beer and offering it toward Steve. The blond is pleased to see it's one of his favorites, and not one that the other man normally sells. "One of Nat's friends, he's pretty good. Did I introduce you to her yet?" 

Clint had been seeing a woman only known to his circle of friends as 'Nat' and he had only given them the information that she could probably kill him if she wanted. Of course, this was all said with a love struck expression. 

Steve smiles softly, "No, not yet." 

Clint nods sagely while the man gets on stage and grabs his bass. "Oh, that's the cue for me to shut up." The blond archer shoots Steve a wink and goes off to help his other customers. 

Steve turns back around to watch the performance, sipping slowly at his beer while a few chords are strummed. The stage lights are bright enough that Steve can make out the man's face, which makes his mouth go dry and his hands itch for a pencil. 

The man is very handsome, full lips wrapping around words and light eyes (Steve can't tell what color they are exactly due to the distance between the bar and the stage) turned away from the crowd. He seems like he's caught in his own little world, something that makes Steve want to run to his sketch book or a canvas and record the expression with loving detail. 

Steve states transfixed for the first half of the man's set, blushing brightly when Sam and Peggy nudge him out of his trance. The man announces that he's taking a break and climbs gracefully off the stage. 

"You should go talk to him." Sam wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Steve to splutter into his drink. 

"Wha-!? No! Why?" He doesn't mention to Sam that he desperately wants to sketch the man, that maybe his muse has finally come back to life. Sam would tease him relentlessly. 

"Because you've been doing nothing but stare at the poor guy all night."

"He's a performer Sam, that's kinda in the cards." His friend huffs. 

Steve ignores Sam for the remainder of the man's set, choosing to scribble down an idea he had for a piece onto a napkin. He's jolted out of his creative headspace by Peggy practically yanking him off the bar stool; the alcohol is buzzing pleasantly through him that Steve doesn't protest the man handling, and follows obediently. 

He remembers the sketch the next day and groans.

()()

"So was that _him_?" Steve has to bite back a sigh when Peggy pulls him away from the man--Bucky--in order to grill him on how cozy they looked. 

He doesn't really want to discuss why Bucky was out in the alley, the man looked five seconds away from a panic attack, but he also didn't want to lie to his best friend. Instead, Steve shrugs a shoulder as nonchalantly as he can. "Yeah, he was just gettin' some air and I literally ran into him." He waves toward his forehead and Peggy makes a concerned noise at how red the spot is. 

They manage to make it to the movie (a cartoon flick that Steve had been dying to see, and that Peggy didn't mind indulging him in going). Unfortunately, Steve's mind is on other things than the spectacular animation and storyline. 

Bucky hadn't talked much, but Steve remembered the cornered animal look in his eyes. _What happened to him?_ Steve chews absentmindedly at his straw, watching with half minded awe. 

Later, Steve sits in front of his drafting table, hands stained in ink and fingers cramping. He's furiously drawing, lines flowing easily onto the paper like water; he doesn't think about the fact that his new character had many similarities to Bucky. 

It's well into the early morning when Steve pulls away from his table. Squinting at the clock, he rubs a tired hand over his eyes and slumps in relief. 

Turning off the table lamp, Steve gazes down at the new spread for an idea...he chews on the inside of his cheek, realizing that he should probably tell Bucky that he's gonna be in a comic.


	3. I Know Very Well How I Got My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I Know Very Well How I Got My Name--Morrissey_

"How have you been lately, James?" He's fiddling with a rip in his jeans, teeth gnawing away at his chapped bottom lip as he avoids his therapist's searching gaze. 

"Fine." He resists to roll his shoulder in a shrug because it's been killing him the past few days due to the weather suddenly getting colder. Bucky doesn't look up when he hears a pen scratching across paper, knowing that he's being difficult. 

The sound of papers flapping grate on his nerves and cause the headache behind his eyes to worsen slightly. Bucky picks more at the tear, biting down harder till he begins to taste blood. "Last week you said you've been trying to get back into playing, how has that been?" 

He thinks about blue eyes and a hiccupy laugh, the pleasant warmth that settled low in his chest when Steve had looked up from under his ridiculously long eyelashes and asked "see you around?"

He thinks of a too trusting gaze and nervous arms around his waist while smokey whiskey and sharp vodka swirled in his brain, broken glass like starlight on asphalt that burned like fire. _"You killed my baby!"_

"It's been going fine." Bucky's shoulder throbs in pain, and he slumps down deeper into the over stuffed couch. He looks up and sees his therapist's eyebrows pinched together. Bucky sighs and looks back down at his lap. "I got offered a job to play at a place...a regular thing." 

He hears the woman lean back in her chair, and knows she's offering him a soft smile. Bucky can hear the pen scratching over the surface of her paper once more. "That's wonderful, James! I'm glad to hear it."

He doesn't tell her about Steve. 

()()

Bucky steps out into the mild September air and releases a long breath of relief. The rest of his hour had been him just rehashing old shit that he's sure his therapist is tired of hearing, but from the books she suggested he read talking about his guilt is the best way to deal with it. 

He rolls his shoulder with a grimace, the twinge of pain making him wish he could have just kept it off for the day. 

Pulling his black baseball cap lower over his head, Bucky begins to walk toward Stark Tower for the arm's biweekly check up. 

The receptionist is a nice woman who recognizes him instantly from his near constant presence at the tower. She blushes prettily when he flashes her a quick smile (the action feels robotic and foreign on his face, but he knows it's just because he's still a little emotionally raw from his session). 

Bucky is ushered to a small, private elevator and turns away from the window when it lurches up. He's always been afraid of heights, but knows that Tony's personal labs are in the top of the tower for security reasons. 

" _ **Hello Mr. Barnes.**_ " He doesn't jump in surprise like he would have a year ago at the smooth British voice that comes from nowhere. Instead, Bucky lets his shoulders fall and allows his tiredness to show plainly on his face. 

"Hey J, how're you doing?" 

" ** _Quite well. Mr. Stark is in his lab...though I'm sure he's forgotten about the appointment._** " There's a note of exasperated humor in the AI's voice, and Bucky snorts softly to himself because it's most likely true. 

He's known Tony Stark for years due to them running in similar circles. They had both been known to party into the early hours, steering their lives into a downward path of destruction without a care in the world. 

After the accident and after he had recovered enough to sign himself into rehab, that's where Bucky had met Tony again. 

The elevator stops without any sound, the doors opening just as quietly. The bright white of the lab does very little to relieve the pressure behind Bucky's eyes, but he knows that this is a place where his every thought isn't analyzed. 

Stepping out of the elevator, Bucky barely has enough time to duck when a wrench (that's some how on fire) goes flying. He doesn't react as much as he would have the first fifty times this has happened, but he does give the wrench a wary look as he goes to find Tony. 

The man he's seeking pops out from behind a hunk of charred metal, one eyebrow suspiciously missing while dark bags decorate the underside of his eyes. "Barnes?" Tony questions, his mouth turned down in confusion. He glances at a calendar that has char marks on the edges. "Did we have a thing today? What day is it?" 

Bucky snorts, walking to an over cluttered desk and sitting on the least likely to break chair. Tony wipes his oily hands on a rag hanging from a pocket. "JARVIS said you'd probably not remember." 

The genius huffs and all but collapses onto another chair; rolling it over to Bucky's side, Tony holds out his hand. 

Bucky drops the metal arm into the genius' waiting hand, biting back a noise of pain when the action causes the muscles around where the arm attaches twinge uncomfortably. "So what's up, tin man?" Tony thankfully fills the air with his babbling, but occasionally he'll inquire after Bucky's health.

He guess he looks more like shit than he first thought. 

"Uh, nothing much. The arm's been bugging me I guess." Tony flicks his eyes up from where they're intently studying the circuitry of the arm to meet Bucky's gaze. He doesn't shrug because he knows he'll get bitched at for moving. "Just 'cause of the weather; finger movement is still fine and it still reacts like I want it to."

Tony's studying gaze drops back down, and his fingers fiddle with a few things that make the pressure against Bucky's shoulder loosen some what. "What about _you_?" 

The genius yawns loudly and seems to shake off his fatigue with a jolt. "Eh, nothing much to report. I'm pretty sure Pep was born to run a company--" Bucky tunes out Tony's rambling, eye lids heavy as the hour ticks by. 

He's exhausted both emotionally and physically, and after a few minutes of spacing out, Tony allows him some silence. 

Bucky snaps out of his daze by Tony noisily closing the panel over the arm's wrist and telling to 'get the hell outta my lab'. He snorts and kicks at the genius' chair, pushing the rolling chair away from him. 

Tony walks him over to the elevator and slaps a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Look, if you ever need anything--"

The man is looking anywhere but Bucky's steady eyes, an uncomfortable pout working over his mouth. They didn't know each other extremely well before Bucky's accident and then their stay in rehab, but he's actually grateful for the man's friendship now. 

Bucky elbows Tony in the chest, raising an eyebrow. "Aw, you gettin' sentimental on me, Stark?"

Tony's expression goes from uncomfortable to relief to fond annoyance. The elevator dings loudly, and he all but shoves Bucky into it. "Whatever, asshole. I'll see you next month."

Bucky laughs, the knot in his chest loosening somewhat. Before the elevator door closes, he yells out that Tony needs to sleep more; the man responds by flipping him off. 

()()

Bucky stares down at his phone, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek while his finger hovers over the call button. 

Natasha had given him Clint's number in case he wanted to take the man up on his offer, and so after he had taken a long shower, Bucky decided that maybe he could do it. 

He scrubs a hand down his face, posture slumping forward. Bucky glances to where his bass is set up against the wall, the black wood polished to a gleam. He wants so desperately to play again, but every time he closes his eyes, Dot's face smashed so unrecognizably flashes over his eyelids. 

_Maybe I shouldn't do it._

Bucky sets down his phone with a sigh and tugs at his still wet hair. He swallows down every curse he wants to hurl at himself because his therapist said the first time he met her that verbally or physically punishing himself wasn't on his road to recovery. 

Sucking in a breath through his nose, Bucky snatches up his phone.


	4. Ophelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ophelia--The Lumineers_

Steve doesn't see Bucky for about three weeks, which makes him frown a little in annoyance. 

He shakes his head at himself, mind quickly reminding him that the man had a life and most likely a girlfriend to attend to. It wasn't like the man could live at the bar and wait on Steve's every beck and call. 

Snatching up his drink from Clint's lazily outstretched hand, Steve murmurs a thanks and heads to the table where Peggy and Sam have set up camp. It's a booth that is set perfectly to view the little stage, and when he slides on to his seat, Steve tries not to be disappointed when he sees that the act setting up tonight isn't the brunet with the slate-grey eyes. 

"It'll be alright, Steve." Peggy smiles at him from across the table while Sam nods beside her. 

"Clint's got a pretty good rep among the local talent, so I'm sure your boy'll be around again." Steve flushes brightly when their smiles turn into teasing grins. 

"He's not _my_ anything." Steve mumbles into his drink, posture slumping down in the seat. Sam snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. 

"Your studio is covered in this guy's face!" 

"I didn't hear you complaining when it was covered with _your_ ugly mug!" 

"Boys." Peggy looks between the two bickering men with an exasperated sigh. "Behave like adults when we're out in public, _please._ " 

Sam and Steve pout briefly and then grin at each other while Peggy reaches over and slaps them both upside their heads. 

Relaxing back into his seat (after whining and giving the Brit his best puppy dog eyes), Steve lets out a long sigh. "Thanks for putting up with me, guys." He rolls his beer bottle between his hands, gaze cast down. "It's...I just wanna get his permission so I can send this character to the publisher. I mean, I wouldn't like it if someone used _me_ as a character and didn't ask first." 

He doesn't say that he also wants to see if he can get the guy's number, even though he would very much like to. It's not practical to want something that he'll never be able to have. 

Sam hums, sipping at his own drink while his eyes flicker over to the bar. He nearly choked and splutters loudly, slapping his hand on the table top. Steve and Peggy have jumped up to try and help the man; Peggy slaps him hard on the back until he's able to suck in a shaking lungful of air. "L-look!" Sam thrusts a finger toward the bar, and Steve cranes his neck to look over the high booth seat. 

His heart _does not_ skip a beat when he sees Bucky hunched over at the bar, one hand shoved in a worn jean's pocket while the other taps a rhythm on the bar top. Beside him is a willowy red head who's back is turned toward Steve's group. 

"Well _go_ , Steve!" Steve is jolted out of his staring by Peggy's sharp voice. He flushes brightly and stumbles out of the booth. 

He tries not to think about what he's wearing too much because he's not asking Bucky out; he and the red head are standing pretty close, so it's possible that the woman is Bucky's girlfriend. She turns so that he can see her profile, and she's definitely the type of woman Bucky would end up with. 

Intimidating beautiful and nothing at all like Steve. 

He shakes his head at that thought and sucks in a breath before stepping up beside the pair. "Hi!" He says a little too loudly, wincing internally at how awkward _that_ was. 

The woman and Bucky both turn toward him, the former giving him a quick once over while the latter seems almost...happy to see him. "Hey." Bucky tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing for a moment as he tries to remember Steve's name. "Steve, right?" 

"Uh, yep." Steve says with a tiny smile; the woman beside Bucky snorts and nudges the other man with an elbow. 

"Are you going to introduce me, James?" 

The man in question rolls his eyes, but there's a soft smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He waves at Steve then at the woman, "Steve, Natasha. Natasha, Steve." 

Steve's eyes widen, and suddenly he smiles brightly. "Natasha...like, 'Nat'? Do you know a Clint?" Bucky's eyebrows furrow, but Natasha crosses her arms and gives Steve another once over, though this time she's looking at him with an amused expression on her frighteningly beautiful face. 

"Unfortunately." 

Like he's been summoned, Clint walks out doe the back room holding a case of bottles that look half way from falling out. He smiles brightly at the red head before his eyes flick over to Steve and his smile grows. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Natasha glances between Steve and Bucky before letting out another snort and _vaulting_ over the counter. Landing soundlessly (and ignoring the wide eyed and appreciative looks of the other bar goers), Natasha turns and gives them a wave over her shoulder. "I'm going to go help him. You boys get cozy till we get back."

Steve flushes at the comment, but he's still staring in awe at the way she just hopped over the counter. Bucky scoffs, drawing the blond's attention, and gives him an unamused look. "Don't pay any mind to her, she thinks she's cool." 

Steve finds himself laughing (and trying not to think of the tiny pout working over Bucky's mouth); he hops up on to a bar stool so that he's at least not looking too much at the other male (who's still standing, all long limbs and causal attractiveness). "So, I actually had a reason for coming over and bugging you." 

Bucky seems much more relaxed than he had been the first time they met, which is why he seems more willing to joke around. "What? It wasn't because of my good looks?" This line is delivered in a monotone voice, but the quick upward rise of an eyebrow and the slight quirk to his mouth indicates to the blond that he's joking. 

Steve snorts, hand reaching out without thinking and punching the man lightly on the right shoulder. "I think you've gotta face only your ma could love." He twists his expression into one of sadness. "Sorry, pal."

Bucky lets out a short bark of laughter that has slight wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. Steve thinks that it's an expression that needs to be on the man's face more often, and feels his entire body warm. "You gotta mouth on you, punk." Bucky shakes his head, smirk dying to a small grin and he leans against the counter, giving Steve his entire attention. "So why did you come over here? I'm guessin' it wasn't 'cause of my sunny disposition." 

Steve feels something like happiness bubbling under his heart; he likes how Bucky is bantering with him, likes the steady grey-blue gaze leveled on him. His eyes trace the man's posture, committing the pose to memory for later recreation. Steve clears his throat. "Um, oh yeah. So, I'm an...artist?" He winces, "I draw comics, and uh--I was wondering if it would be okay that I base a character...off of you." 

Bucky frowns, confusion working over his face. Steve thinks that there might be a dusting of a blush working over the man's cheeks, but he's not sure in the low light of the bar. "You can say no, I know it's pretty weird--" 

The man shakes his head and lets out a soft laugh. "Uh, no it's fine." His gaze quickly moves away from Steve's, and if the blond didn't know any better, he'd say that Bucky's expression was flattered. "I mean, that's something I've never been asked." 

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, fingers twisting around one another while his feet kick back and forth absentmindedly. "So...is that a 'go ahead Steve'?" 

Bucky snorts and his grey-blue eyes are once more resting heavily upon the blond. "Well, sure." A mischievous smirk curls over his mouth. "I mean, only if they're _good_."

Steve blinks and then scoffs, crossing his arms. "Of course they are! Not to sound conceited or anything, but I can make even _you_ look good." He wants to say that he's been unable to draw anything that isn't the man in front of him, that Bucky is a fantasy come to life. Instead, he falls back onto the tried and true method of being a prickly asshole. 

Thankfully the man seems to find it amusing. 

Bucky shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly looking shy. He scratches the side of his nose, shoulders hunching forward as if he's trying to make himself smaller. "Uh, would you mind showing me? Once you're done, I mean?" 

Steve is surprised by how Bucky seems to stumble over this question; he doesn't seem like the kind of man to never have a date...someone like Steve. The blond then thinks that Bucky might be flirting with him, but that thought is as ridiculous as him thinking he ever has a chance with the brunet. 

Steve gnaws at his lip, trying not to allow himself to hope when he asks: "I could give you my number and text some sketches to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve makin' headway even though he thinks he has no chance. You go, Steve. 
> 
> Bucky is an awkward and precious baby that needs to be protected at all costs.


	5. Whistle For the Choir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Whistle For the Choir --The Fratellis_

Bucky _does not_ jump to grab his phone when he hears the small ding of a message being received. He is casual and very subtle in his giddiness while reaching for it (and by the loud snort of amusement from Natasha in the kitchen, he's managed to fail spectacularly at it). 

After lazily flipping her the bird, Bucky swipes his finger over the screen of his phone, letting out a small breath upon seeing that it's from Steve. 

_Steve:_

_Hey! This is Steve from the bar. Thought I'd send you some sketches :0 tell me what you think and maybe some suggestions??_

A couple of pictures pop up after the message, the pleasant dings after each making Bucky smile even though Natasha is giving him a knowing look. 

They're insanely good, and Bucky is momentarily floored by the level of talent Steve possesses. Even though they're sketches, Bucky would bet all the money he has that each of them would be accepted to some sort of gallery. 

He tells Steve as much before he can second guess himself, and holds his breath while waiting for the blond to reply. 

_Steve:_

_Haha yeah I doubt that!! But thanks c:_

Bucky stands to go into his room, hand cradling his phone as he tries to think of something (anything!) so he can keep the conversation going. Shutting the door behind him, Bucky lets out a puff of air that borders on a frustrated sigh and flops onto his bed. 

It's been a while since he's had this sort of dilemma on his hands. 

_**No, really. I'm pretty sure I've seen stuff that isn't nearly half as good as yours hanging up in museums. Give yourself more credit, punk!**_

Bucky sets his phone onto the bed beside him. Closing his eyes, he listens to the near silent hum of the metal arm charging over on his desk; he feels a little off balance without it weighing down his left side, but due to practicing nearly every day since agreeing to play regularly at Clint's bar, the arm needed a good charge. 

His phone buzzes, but Bucky forces himself to wait a few seconds before looking at the reply. 

_Steve:_

_Ha. ha. ha. See? This is me laughing. No, but seriously, thanks that means a lot to hear :D_

_Steve:_

_Sooo...anything I should add?_

Bucky feels his mouth pull into a small smile, warmth curling comfortably in his heart when he reads Steve's snippy remark. Going back to look through the pictures, Bucky chews at the inside of his cheek in thought; his eyes flicker to where the arm sits on his desk and then down to his phone. 

He jabs a little too harshly on the screen, palm sweating slightly in nervousness. Maybe this isn't a good idea...?

_**I actually don't have my left arm. I lost in an accident about a year ago. Maybe you could add that to the design? I do have a prosthetic that's pretty cool looking though.** _

Bucky all but tosses his phone away from himself and curls his legs up to his chest. He wonders if he's messed any chance he might have had with Steve up. 

People got weird when they realized someone has a disability, and even though he doesn't think Steve is like that...nervousness gives way to anxiety the longer it takes Steve to reply. 

Bucky stands up to retrieve the arm, uncaring that it's not fully charged. The weight is comforting as he begins to attach it to the fake socket; Bucky makes himself go through the calibration movements even after he hears his phone buzz a few times. It takes a couple of minutes, but the repetitive motions allow for him to bring himself away from any sort of panic. 

Bucky plucks the phone up with his metal hand, mouth pinched at how the movement jerks and jolts while the nerves get used to something once more. Thankfully it seems like every time he has to take the arm off, it gets easier to attach again. 

_Steve:_

_Really? That's pretty incredible that you're able to play so well even with a handicap like that! :0 that's ducking amazing!_

_Steve:_

_*fucking_

_Steve:_

_Could I see the prosthetic for reference?_

_Steve:_

_Shit that might've come out wrong! I didn't mean to sound creepy! I just wanna stay true to your suggestion!_

_Steve:_

_Bucky??_

Bucky instantly feels guilty at not answering Steve right away, though he does find it endearing that the blond seems to babble when he gets flustered. 

_**Shit sorry! I was actually putting my arm back on and it takes a minute to get everything situated. :/** _

_**But I don't mind sending a pic. Just give me a second.**_

He sucks in a breath and then releases it in a loud sigh. Bucky knows _knows_ that all he really has to do is send Steve a picture of the arm, nothing more. It's a little terrifying, and even though Bucky's not ashamed of the actual arm (because it was a gift from Tony who had been trying to help in anyway possible) _how_ he got it and the scars that accompanied is making him give pause. 

Bucky shakes his head and snatches his shirt off of his body. He scowls softly, opening the camera before he can talk himself out of anything. He was the one who brought up the damn thing in the first place. 

The photo shows how the arm connects to the artificial socket that is attached to his shoulder; he doesn't think about the still bright scars, or even that he managed to capture his scowling face in one photo. Sending them after a moment's hesitation, Bucky rubs a hand down his face with a groan. 

The phone doesn't buzz for a few seconds...and then it stretches into a few minutes. Bucky's stomach is in knots, but he refuses to apologize because having his prosthetic isn't something to apologize for. 

Steve replies with a series of exclamation points and emoticons which makes Bucky snort and then break out into laughter. 

_Steve:_

_HOLY SHIT!!! THAT'S SO COOL!!!_

_Steve:_

_Ahhhh!!! I'm gonna be an adult for a few seconds and say dude that looks like it hurt, I'm sorry :( I'm not gonna ask how you got it because that's not my business, but that I'm sorry it happened._

_Steve:_

_Anyway, yeah that's definitely going in the design. Thanks for sharing with me :)_

Bucky tries not to preen under the compliments, but he does feel a bubble of giddiness at the apparent excitement Steve has about the arm. He lets out a breath of relief though upon reading Steve's apology and silently thanks the blond for not prodding. 

_**lol thanks? A friend built it for me so all of the 'coolness' is attributed to him. Though I'm probably not gonna tell him because he has a big enough ego as it is.** _

_**And thanks for not asking...it's not something I'm comfortable talking about.** _

He leaves the 'yet' unspoken, but hopes that Steve understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, but more interaction between Steve and Bucky. 
> 
> I based both of their texting styles on how I text. It really varies haha 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS <3


	6. Frank Sinatra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Frank Sinatra-- CAKE_

Steve and Bucky have been texting each other constantly over the past few days, and Steve knows that both Sam and Peggy have been making fun of him for it. 

He makes faces at them when ever he jumps at hearing the (customized) alert, quickly gathering his phone up and glaring over the top of the screen. 

So he has a little crush? So what? It's not like anything will come out of it...

He lets out a sigh and leans back in his chair, an ink coated hand going up to rub at his eyes behind his thick glasses. The soft violin music winding out of the old boom box Sam gave him their first year of college is the only sound in his studio, but Steve can almost make out the quiet pattering of rain on the large windows if he concentrates hard enough. 

Picking up his phone to check the time (1:30 in the morning, so it might be time to order some Chinese), Steve lets out a loud yelp when Bucky's ringtone starts playing. 

He blinks at the phone in hand for a few seconds, dazed confusion and bubbling excitement swirling in his brain before he shakes himself out of his stupor. Sliding his thumb over the screen, Steve clears his throat. "Um, hello?" 

There's a second where all he can hear is soft breathing on the other line. " _S-Steve?_ " Bucky sounds confused, voice thick with some sort of emotion that Steve can't place, but has worry wash over him like a wet blanket. 

"Bucky? Is everything alright?" He hopes that he doesn't sound as panicked as he feels, concern laced tight around his words. 

" _I...shit, I probably woke you up. I-I should hang--_ "

"No, it's fine!" Steve's grip around his phone tightens, and he thinks he can hear a soft sigh of relief on the other end. "I was actually thinking about ordering food."

Steve feels a small smile come to his mouth when he hears a quiet breath of laughter from Bucky. " _You should be sleeping, punk._ " He doesn't sound as panicked as before, which has Steve's shoulders slumping in relief. 

"I'm workin' late, and anyways you're the one who called me at 1:30."

" _...I'm sorry...I don't really sleep much._ " Steve immediately feels like an asshole. He smacks his forehead, gritting his teeth in frustration at himself. 

Dumbass! 

"Hey, uh...y-you wanna have some food with me?" Silence stretches between then both of them; Steve holds his breath, wondering if he toed over some invisible line, and in his worried state he had scared the other man off. 

Steve thinks he can hear Bucky shifting, the quiet groan of mattress springs barely noticeable only if he wasn't listening. " _I could eat,_ " Bucky admits softly, " _Though I'm gonna need an address so I'm not wandering all over the place._ " 

The relief makes Steve's head spin, and he breathes out the address to his studio. " _Ah, that's not too far. I don't even need to get on the train._ " Steve can hear Bucky opening what sounds like a drawer, his voice muffled for a moment before becoming clearer. He sighs quietly, voice both tired and embarrassed as he says: " _Thank you, Steve...this...really means a lot._ " 

Steve can feel his face heat at the heavy sincerity weighing down Bucky's words, but he doesn't prickle up like he would normally. "Anytime, Bucky."

()()

He cleans as quickly as he can, shoving stacks of sketches (mostly of Bucky's face and hands and mouth and--) into folders and then into the many bookcases shoved against the walls. Steve stacks the coffee mugs he has scattered through the studio beside the sink, tossing a couple into the trash due to the mold growing inside of them. 

He really doesn't want Bucky to think he's gross even though at times he most certainly is. 

Steve jumps at the sound of his phone going off, mouth twitching at the corners when he sees Bucky's text. 

_Bucky :B :_

_I think I'm here? You should come and open the door because I'm pretty sure I'm catching hypothermia._

Steve scurries down to the main floor, hopping down the many stairs in order to open the huge main door. The studio spaces were mostly for students of the local collage, but were available to rent for a reduced price (especially since Steve had went to the school). It's made from a converted luxury hotel, which allows several students actually being able to live in their studios. 

Thankfully Steve wasn't forced to do that, though with the amount of time that he spent in the place, it probably would be more cost effective. 

Wrenching open the heavy door, Steve tries (and fails) to swallow down the surprised laugh upon seeing the other man. Bucky's mouth is twisted into an uncomfortable frown, his wide shoulders hunched up to his neck, and a dark red hood pulled over his head. 

He looks like a drowned rat, and equally as miserable; Steve notes that he isn't wearing his prosthetic, and thinks that's probably a good thing considering the rain. 

"You don't look happy." Steve says, stepping aside in order to let the man into the main hall. Water drips from the end of Bucky's long hair, soaking into his already wet jacket. 

"Please tell me you have heat." He says, voice ragged and very upset. "I don't know why I thought walking would be a good idea." 

He follows Steve to the ancient elevator, still hunched into himself as he tries to get warm. Steve knows that the main hall is drafty as hell, and immediately feels for the other man. "Yup, I even have towels." 

"You're a fucking life saver." They step into the elevator, the space suddenly seeming far too small. Steve can feel the heat from Bucky's body, and tries not to breathe too deeply because even half drowned, Bucky smells really nice. 

God he's a creep. 

The elevator lets out a loud ding when it lurches to Steve's floor. He scurries out of the small space, heart fluttering in nervousness as he looks through his key ring to find the right key. 

Bucky quietly follows him into the studio, a soft sigh falling out of his mouth when the heater kicks in. Steve doesn't look at the other man to see his reaction to the space, and instead goes to find the small stack of stained (but thankfully clean) towels sitting beside his desk. 

"Here you go," Steve walks back to where Bucky is looking at the multitude of canvases hung on the wall for lack of anywhere to put them. The blond squirms slightly as nervousness drops in his gut; Bucky's already told him that he liked his art, but watching the man inspecting the unfinished pieces with curious slate grey eyes makes a light swear break out over his forehead. 

Bucky finally looks away from the canvas wall, a flush of embarrassment working over his cheeks. His mouth quirks in a crooked smile as he takes the towel Steve has been holding out to him for the past few seconds. "Sorry, spaced out for a second. Thanks." 

Steve almost chokes on his spit when Bucky tanks his hoodie off, his black undershirt riding up with the action and displaying abs that Steve has to physically turn away from least he do something fucking stupid. 

He goes to his desk and fumbles with his phone, having to try and unlock it twice due to his shaking hands. "Yeah, no problem. Uh, what do you wanna eat? I'm buying." Steve turns and glares at the man who's rubbing the water out of his hair. "Just don't go crazy, or else." 

Bucky snorts, the sound almost lost under the once white towel. Steve sees his mouth twist into a smirk, and he has to remind himself that _this isn't anything special. Just two guys hanging out...at 2 in the morning...after one guy called the other almost having a panic attack..._

"In that case, I'm gonna order the most expensive thing I can." He lays the towel over the back of a chair, an eyebrow raised. "But seriously man, I can pay for myself." 

Steve already has the number to his favorite Chinese place dialed and waves Bucky's offer away. "Nah, I offered. Are you really gonna turn down free food?" 

Bucky huffs and sits on the couch with a tiny pout. "Fine, I guess I'll get it next time." Steve doesn't think about the way his heart skips a beat at a promise of 'next time' because that's when the phone connects. 

()()

They're both sprawled on the floor of the studio with pints of half eaten Chinese food scattered around them. Bucky picks up his phone, eyebrows shooting up at seeing the time. "Fuck, it's 4." 

Steve is currently chewing on a fortune cookie, the paper held in his hand until he's eaten the vanilla flavored sweet. "Is that bad?" He swallows and goes to look at his fortune. 

Bucky sighs and sets his phone back onto the floor. He doesn't move, and instead settles more comfortably on the floor with his legs propped up on the couch. "Nah, just surprising is all. Hey, what's your fortune say?"

Steve feels his face heat, but it's fucking stupid because this is a Chinese food fortune cookie fortune. It's not like it's real or anything. "Um, 'The man or woman you desire feels the same about you'." He shrugs, and tosses the paper away. 

Bucky stares at him for a moment, blue grey eyes reminding Steve of stormy summer skies. He wants to ask, just to make sure...but he's afraid of what the other man will say. 

"In bed." Bucky says after a moment, effectively breaking any sort of tension in the room. Steve blinks and then begins to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments ❤️
> 
> This might be my favorite chapter so far, and yes that's an actual fortune cookie fortune.


	7. Pill in Ibiza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I took a Pill in Ibiza--Mike Posner_

Bucky wakes up disoriented and on the floor. There's a fairly big puddle of drool under his cheek, and his one arm is wrapped tightly around something that is very warm. 

He's not in Natasha's apartment and there's someone standing over him. 

The smell of fresh coffee perks up his senses a little, but when he fully opens his eyes (only to squint against the burst of light that assaults them afterwards), Bucky trails his gaze up the shapely and heavily tattooed legs of the brunette that had been with Steve the first time they met. 

She's giving him an amused smile, dark eyebrow cocked in a silent question as her gaze flickers down to what he's holding in his arm. Or, more specifically, _who_. 

Steve's face is squashed against Bucky's chest, his long eyelashes splayed over his slightly flushed cheeks. Bucky feels his own face heat up, but he knows that if he were to jerk out of the position it would only wake up the blond. 

He tries to clear his throat as soundlessly as possible and gives the woman his best puppy dog eyes. "Um, this isn't--"

The door to the studio opens, and a tall dark skinned man swans in. He's staring at his phone while sipping at a to-go cup of coffee. "Hey, Peg, you wake up Sleeping Beauty--?" The man looks up over his sunglasses and his gaze lands directly on Bucky. "Huh."

Bucky winces when the woman snorts loudly, moving over to prod Steve with the toe of her boot. "I'm sorry about this," she apologizes quickly before bending down and _yelling_ into Steve's ear. "WAKE UP."

Both Bucky and Steve jump almost a foot into the air; Bucky quickly releases Steve, a stricken look on both of their faces that soon morphs into tired anger (Steve's expression does at least). "Jesus H. Christ, Peggy!" 

Peggy hands the blond his coffee while rolling her eyes. The man behind her is currently cracking up and flops onto the couch where the two had been cuddled by. "You know that's like the only way to wake you up when you get like this."

The woman's eyes land knowingly onto Bucky. He wants to shrink in on himself or run screaming out of the studio but instead remains where he is. "Did we interrupt something?" 

Steve blinks blearily while Bucky prays for the ground to swallow him. _How fucking pathetic are you that you couldn't handle one night alone? Now you're causing trouble for Steve. You shoulda just left or not even come at all._

"I invited Bucky to eat last night and I guess we passed out around like, six...ish?" Steve yawns and takes a large swig of coffee. Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek, feeling naked and awkward without his arm. 

"I uh, gonna go." He stands and tries to hunch in on himself; Peggy and the man are giving him identical looks of confusion while Steve's expression is flustered. 

"Shit, you probably have stuff to do." The blond shakes his head and gives Bucky a sunny smile. Something inside Bucky jolts at the expression, thankful that maybe he isn't causing too much trouble for the other male after all. "Sorry for keeping you! Here, lemme show you out."

Steve gets up before Bucky can say anything and skitters to the door, thin hand casually wrapped around Bucky's. He tries not to think about the warm digits curled with his own fingers, or the way Steve's visitors are exchanging knowing smirks. 

"Sorry about them. Um, they show up to make sure I'm not dead." Steve snorts softly as they wait for the old elevator. "And sorry for not setting an alarm or something!" 

"It's fine." Bucky doesn't think about how they're still holding hands. Steve probably is this physically affectionate with all of his friends. "Though you should watch out for your health a little more, punk." He raises an eyebrow at Steve's annoyed huff. 

"I'm fine...I haven't been in the hospital once this year." 

The elevator dings loudly, and when the doors shut and they're tightly packed inside, Bucky splutters a little indignantly. "Are you telling me that there are times when you've been in the hospital more than once?" 

Steve freezes and then flushes. He looks anywhere but at Bucky. "Uh...yeah?" He clears his throat and shoves Bucky into the elevator before he can say anything else. 

Silence falls between them as the elevator lurches down. Bucky chews at dried skin on his lip, reveling at the bright spurt of pain as he tears off a rather large strip. The shock grounds him, makes him think about here and now rather than the past. 

It forces him to figure out what he needs to do today and not about how Steve felt pressed against him. 

"Are you..." Steve coughs once, his voice like he's been gargling gravel. "Are you gonna be okay?" 

Bucky sighs softly, touched at the concern he sees painted over Steve's face. "Yeah...I should be."

The elevator lurches once as it comes to a stop, the doors groaning as they squeak open. 

There are far more people crowded in the lobby and halls than there were at two in the morning. College students stumble past them, bleary eyed and clenching to go cups and mugs of coffee to their chests. 

Steve shoulders around some kids who are blocking the exit; they're sucking down cigarettes like it's going out of style, deep purple bags under their tires eyes. Bucky keeps his gaze locked to the ground, uncomfortable in the cluster of people. 

One of the students stops Steve with a smile, both quickly falling into a conversation. Bucky wants to leave but at the same time he doesn't want to leave Steve; he's awkwardly standing off to the side when he looks up and notices a girl staring at him. 

Her dyed red brows are furrowed, and a confused expression plays over her face. Bucky feels his stomach drop, heart thudding against his breast bone as she turns to a boy with dyed silver hair. "Does that guy look familiar?" Bucky sucks in a sharp breath of air at the girl's question. 

"Huh...think he's someone famous?" The boy's dark eyes are on him even though both students know he can hear them. 

"Bucky?" Steve's voice pulls him from his panicked staring match. 

"I-I really have to leave." Bucky mutters quickly, shoving past the group of kids still blocking the exit. He squashes down the guilt of leaving Steve behind without a goodbye, but he has to leave. 

He doesn't want to see the look on Steve's face when he finds out that he's a killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short!!


End file.
